Making Progress
by ReadYourHeartOut
Summary: A very long poem depicting the progression of Kyouya's feelings for Tamaki. They weren't always positive. KyouxTama


**A/N: Sort of an awkward progression of events and emotions, but this is how it turned out… I like to think of it as an epic. XD Let me know what you think…?**

…

From the moment I met him, I hated him.

He's a complete fool.

He's a loud, obnoxious, self-centered, naïve twit.

This boy who thinks of the whole world as his own little playground,

And he expected _me_ to play along and wait on him.

What's worse, I actually have to.

He has absolutely no sense of responsibility,

No idea that there is trouble or strife in the world.

All he thinks about is "beauty."

Usually his own.

And how he wants to "share that with the world."

Please.

I get so irritated with him.

"Kyouya, let's start a host club!"

_Whatever you say, your highness._

Another foolish venture he could never accomplish without me.

But of course, I help him.

As though I have a choice about any of it.

About anything.

And he remains as oblivious as ever, just as ignorant to the ways of the world.

He goes about his life making a fool of himself.

And I simply have to watch him.

Perhaps it's a bit spiteful of me, but…

I enjoy seeing him embarrass himself.

Watching him fall on his face gives me a sense of satisfaction…

And then, I almost enjoy helping him up.

His smiles that stupid smile and I find myself smiling back.

As I watch him go through the motions of his beloved host club,

As I stand back and take care of things behind the scenes,

I start to want…to embarrass him that way myself.

I begin to dwell on that blushing, helpless look on his face,

And suddenly, I have to loosen my tie as my body grows warm.

Seeing him in my mind, begging for my help…

Why does that thought excite me so?

He tells me that I'm his "best friend."

I don't consider us friends.

But for reasons that I can't seem to explain, I want him more than words can say…

I want him on his knees,

Panting,

Blushing,

Begging,

"I need you."

As we both know he does.

Seeing him every day becomes torture.

Because he's so dull that he never notices in the slightest what I want.

When I gaze at him heatedly,

"Oh no, are you angry with me?"

When I let out a desperate sigh,

"What's the matter, Kyouya?"

When I absently lick my lips,

"You could borrow my chapstick!"

Grinning like a moron.

Until finally, I can't take it anymore.

I lose control and kiss him so hard that he can't see straight,

And his face turns completely red, just making me want him more.

"Kyouya," he whispers. "What are you doing…?"

After club hours, no customers, no fellow hosts, we're standing there in an empty music room.

And I tell him (partially) how I think of him all the time.

Being sure to word it very carefully, I confess my "feelings" for him.

What I feel is lust.

He interprets that as love.

So he smiles, and he lets me kiss him again.

And then Tamaki and I are in a "relationship."

He meets me after club hours and talks about his day and

His plans for the club and

Anything else that finds its way into that blond head of his.

He talks himself out of breath, and then…

He sits in my lap and kisses _me_ out of breath.

Letting my hands wander under his shirt and across his skin,

He blushes.

And God, he moans.

And it's the most beautiful, innocent and perfect sound in the world.

He won't sleep with me, though.

He's too shy.

But, as his "best friend," I have to be understanding of that.

"Don't worry," I tell him. Brushing his hair out of his face, I say, "I can wait as long as you want."

Outwardly, I seem quite patient.

Inwardly, my body is begging to take him, only wanting to hear him moan louder.

But no.

Damn it.

I'll have to wait.

And this is how our lives work for now.

I continue to watch him host, see him laugh, see him smile, see him charm hapless girls.

He kisses the hand of some "princess" and a fire sparks in my chest.

Jealousy, now.

Like a fool—like him—I want his attention all to myself.

Not that it matters. I just don't want him kissing girls. Certainly not right before my eyes.

But I would never tell him that.

He might mistake that for genuine affection.

Worse yet, _I_ might start to doubt _myself_.

I don't have time for things like that.

For now, I'm happy just to have what I can.

Listening to him talk about new plans for events and cosplay, I watch his face light up.

His grin grows wider as he makes large and dramatic gestures, and his blue eyes illuminate with excitement.

I can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

He has an uncanny ability to make those around him just as thoroughly engrossed in his fantasy world as he is.

He is very persuasive, I'll give him that.

I help him with every one of those ideas, making each of his "visions of beauty" a reality.

He's always grateful.

Whenever an event goes well and our customers are happy, he'll hug me and thank me over and over.

Eventually, when I say, "I was glad to help," it isn't even a lie anymore.

I'll admit that I start to enjoy seeing him happy as much as seeing him embarrassed.

He'll still blush, and…there's just something about the smile on his face.

Even his naïveté has become almost endearing it.

So I'll explain things to him.

"No, Tamaki, you'll have to unwrap those before you try to eat them."

"Oh, really? I was wondering why they tasted so funny! You're so smart, Kyouya."

For some reason, I'm feeding him candy, and his lips close around my fingertips.

I shiver.

"Are you all right?"

As much as I want to tell him, to ask for what I want, my mouth won't form the words.

He doesn't want that. He isn't ready. So I can't ask for it.

"Nothing."

Staying with him, listening to him, kissing him every day, I'm starting to grow attached.

I'll see him cry, and suddenly I would go to any lengths to make it stop.

I try to teach him common sense, he tries to learn, and his childishness is adorable.

He becomes passionate about something, anything, even something completely pointless and trivial.

He asks for my help, and his eyes burn with a desire to help someone, to make the world better, to create something beautiful.

And I can't possibly tell him no.

I'm helpless.

When did this happen…?

Somehow, without my consent, he holds my heart in his hand, and at his slightest urging, I'll do anything he wants.

Am I his puppet?

His tool?

His friend?

His lover?

And then I realize that must be it.

Why else would I be so utterly out of myself in his presence?

Sometime since that day when we met, I must have fallen in love with him,

With that blush,

Those eyes,

That smile,

These dreams.

But…oddly enough…it doesn't bother me.

Let him control me. Let him shyly hold my hand, kiss my cheek, smile at me.

I'll be perfectly content

And do anything I can to make that smile stay.


End file.
